


Still Going Strong

by incaseoffire



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incaseoffire/pseuds/incaseoffire
Summary: Amid the domesticity of a 30-year relationship, Bram and Simon still "got it."
Relationships: Bram Greenfeld/Simon Spier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Still Going Strong

"Hell yeah dude, yes. More of THAT."

If I had any space right now in my brain to think about what I've just said and how I've said it, I'd have to laugh at myself. My utterance has a deep, unfamiliar tone and includes words that I never use in my everyday existence. But there's something about the experience of my gorgeous, caramel-skinned husband unabashedly cramming his dick down my throat that, well, transforms me. 

Bram's given me a chance to catch my breath, but now I'm ready for more of him in my mouth. And I'm begging him for it like some "bro" at a frat party. Or at least what my imagination tells me that might sound like: in real life, I'm a 47-year-old drama and performing arts teacher at a middle school in Brooklyn.

It's four in the afternoon on a Saturday in October. A glance around the apartment reveals details of the quietly miraculous life Bram and I have built over three decades. The dishwasher humming away at plates and silverware from the brunch Bram prepared for our friends who left earlier. Magazines, bills and junk mail addressed to the "Greenfeld-Spier Family." A cracked-open copy of James Baldwin's _Another Country_ lying on top of one of the countless legal briefs Bram reads for his job as director of a free law clinic. And photos on the wall - on every surface, really - documenting the biggest miracle of them all: our son Martin, who we first fostered and then adopted and is now unbelievably a sophomore at Howard University in Washington DC.

Amid all this domesticity, you'd think our sex would get tame. You'd think Bram and I would retreat to what middle-aged married people are supposed to do: a polite blow job here, jerking off to porn together there, encounters dutifully squeezed like yoga classes into a schedule full of work, family, and social obligations.

But instead we're well into hour two of a session that's already featured Bram's long, knobbly fingers expertly working my nipples to the point where they're basically on fire; my tongue first tracing, then probing, then essentially fucking his tight hole; and Bram's dick up my ass as I'm up against the wall, arms pinned behind my back, his breath hot on my neck.

Now I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor and I'm looking up at Bram, his butt perched on the edge of the bed and feet planted on the floor on either side of my thighs. All six-feet-one of him is naked except for a ribbed white tank top that throws his still-athletic frame into breathtaking relief. I'm totally nude, and my right hand is desperately jabbing my dick up and down even as my fingers begin to dry up and cry out for more lube. My left hand is on the back of my "dude"'s neck, greedily pulling him down and close for hungry, crazy-sloppy kisses. 

We do that for a bit until he cradles my face with both of his hands, gazing down at me. No soft eyes now: he's staring intently with a look that broadcasts as much aggression as affection. He pushes my head back down again onto his beautiful dick. Despite all the times I've found my face in this exact same perfect location, I'm always thrilled by these tastes and smells: my spit, our sweat, his crotch. 

His cockhead easily reaches the back of my throat. (Thirty years has given me a lot of time to get good at this.) This is my chance to drive him insane, and so I'm contracting my mouth and throat on him, half-swallowing and half-sucking. 

"Si-mon," he moans-exclaims, drawing out both syllables of my name. 

I reach up and put my hands on his to gesture that it's OK to - and that I absolutely need him to - ravage my throat. He gives me one last loving look to make sure we're good, and we are: he knows that I want this moment to be all about him. I nod vigorously. So he starts stabbing my throat with selfish urgency, and for the next blissful ninety seconds all I can think of is Bram, dick, dick, Bram. Part of me is no more than a rag doll: my head, neck and throat at the mercy of whatever my husband needs to do to get off. But part of me is still in control, conscious of how to meet his demands in a way that intensifies his pleasure. 

And all of me is shamelessly, overwhelmingly into it. My husband is loving, kind, meticulous, conscientious, perceptive, and whip-smart - all the things that drew me to Blue, and then Bram Greenfeld, when we were teenagers and have made him the best partner a sloppy, oblivious, illogical guy like me could ever hope for. And all those wonderful qualities of Bram's are what makes the thought of allowing him to - no, pleading with him to - just *use* me so inescapably sexy. 

When I first realized this desire many years ago, I felt confused and anxious. But as I opened up to Bram about it - of course he listened carefully, reassured me, and then added some ideas of his own as he flashed his mischievous grin - I understood that the depth of trust and love between us creates a place where I can surrender to him completely for a little while. And although he hasn't said it in so many words, I think Bram needs this too: he gets to be a little less cautious, less overthinking, less concerned (the downsides of all his wonderful qualities) and just...let go.

Once we get to that place together, it's astounding. It's like I'm clinging to a hot, supremely competent skydiving instructor (who happens to be my husband) as he prepares to launch us both from the helicopter at 10,000 feet. 

So I have no problem bringing myself over the edge just seconds after waves of Bram's come start shooting down my throat, into my mouth and then finally onto my face. As I come, his dick still in my mouth, I emit a high-pitched squeal? sigh? yelp? that would definitely mark me as out of place at a fraternity party. (Once a theater kid, always a theater kid I guess.) My orgasm washes over me and I shake my whole torso involuntarily from side to side, like a dog who's just emerged from the ocean. 

I look up at Bram. He's resurfacing too. He reaches down, his once-again soft eyes taking all of me in, making sure I'm OK. He gently hoists me by my armpits up on top of him onto the bed. He plants a soft, deep, I-love-you-despite-the-fact-that-I-just-raped-your-throat kiss on me. The come, lube and sweat are slick between our bodies. I nestle my head in the crook of his neck. His hand rests on the cleft of my ass. Sleep - that delicious sleep that is the reward for all our efforts at sex - will soon come for both of us.

Bram grunts to the ceiling. "You. Are. Amazing." And because he can't resist it, he adds: "Dude."

I hear the smile in his voice. I laugh into the spot behind his ear. I can feel Bram grabbing my ass territorially as we drift off together into a dreamless late-afternoon nap.

**Author's Note:**

> I have found myself completely inspired by Bram and Simon's story and the many directions the brilliant authors here at AO3 have taken it. I wanted to explore what their (sex) lives might be like together at middle age. This is my first fic ever. Thanks for reading it.


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